


i've tried to wash you away, but you just won't leave

by jessicawhitly



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, I don't really know how to tag this but it's Philbot and Melinda and a lot of angst, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20158975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicawhitly/pseuds/jessicawhitly
Summary: Daisy is the only one at her side when Melinda wakes up.





	i've tried to wash you away, but you just won't leave

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know where I was going with this, but I was encouraged to write angst, and I went with it. Spoilers for the season 6 finale. Title is from Haunting by Halsey.

Daisy is the only one at her side when Melinda wakes up.

Coulson- or the robot with his face, at least- had wanted to be there, but Daisy had told him it would be better if she was alone. It would be overwhelming enough, waking up to a different time period- waking up at all after their tearful goodbye on the temple floor. Daisy would ease her into everything else.

Melinda rises to consciousness slowly, and when her eyes open they fall on Daisy instantly, narrowing in confusion as she blinks slowly, pushing off sleep.

“Dai- Daisy?” she asks, voice hoarse, and Daisy strokes a hand over her hair, attempting a small smile.

“Hey,” she whispers, swallowing hard as Melinda blinks, and tears drip down her face. Daisy looks at the monitor, trying to determine if there was something she could fix. “Are- are you in pain? Can I get you-”

“Why am I back here?” Melinda interrupts her, and Daisy’s heart flies to her throat at the sadness in her voice. “I was ready, Daisy. I- I was with him again. I didn’t- I don’t want to _be here_.”

Daisy’s eyes burn as Melinda chokes on a sob, turning her face away as more tears spill down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry. Jemma- she- brought you back,” Daisy whispered, tears of her own falling. “We-”

Melinda just shakes her head, taking a shuddering breath and squeezing Daisy’s hand once before pushing her away gently. “I just- want to be alone.”

Daisy’s lip trembles, but she nods, straightening up and wiping at her cheeks. “There’s…a lot to go over. Just let me know when you’re ready to be briefed.”

Melinda doesn’t reply, but Daisy knows she’s heard her. She leaves her alone, and the moment the door is shut, Coulson is stepping forward.

“I want to see her.”

“She wants to be alone,” Daisy tells him, and feels tears building in her throat again. “She was dead, and she was with Coulson, and we ripped her from that place. She needs- she needs time.”

Coulson blinks, swallowing hard, and nods stiffly.

“I’ll…be here,” he says, and Daisy tries to smile, but only feels tears spill over. She turns away, unwilling to cry in front of him- no matter how familiar his face was, or what memories he had, she didn’t…know what her feelings about the robot version of the man who’d essentially been her father for five years were.

There’s a pause, and she feels the shadow of a touch, but it never lands- instead there are footsteps, and when she turns, she’s alone.

_

Her heart feels like it’s been wrapped in barbed wire.

The sight of this…_machine_, standing in front of her with Phil’s face makes it tighten, drawing more blood. Jemma from the future claimed he had all of Phil’s memories, but all Melinda could think about was how she’d never patched this body up; she had never kissed those lips or touched those hands or spent lazy mornings in Tahiti learning every inch of his skin. Her Phil was dead, and gone, and she’d had moments with him again before she was pulled back here unwillingly.

“You aren’t Phil Coulson,” her voice is cold, but she can’t help the way it breaks just the slightest bit over his name. “You aren’t the man I loved.”

“I know,” she can’t keep the surprise off her face at his statement. “But I have his memories. I have his thoughts. I know how much he loved you. How much you loved him. I can’t- shut them off.”

Her heart squeezes at the words, emotion welling in her throat.

“I know how much my being here hurts you,” there’s pain in his face, and the sight of it punctures through some of the chinks in Melinda’s armor. “And that’s the last thing he ever wanted to do. I don’t know how to fix this.”

Melinda can’t answer, struggling to hold her emotions together.

“Tell me how to make this right,” he’s nearly begging, and Melinda has to look away, swallowing hard.

“You can’t,” she whispers, closing her eyes. “We have a mission, and you’re clearly needed. But I can’t- I just. _Can’t._”

Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and her nails bite into her palm. When she opens her eyes, he’s still staring at her with gutted blue eyes she’s looked at for nearly all her life, and it’s like a knife in her chest.

“I can’t,” she whispers again, and it’s almost too much when he takes a step back, like he’s physically affected by her words.

She leaves the room- leaves him- before any tears can fall.

_

“Are you alright?”

She doesn’t even stiffen at that voice, simply continues tending to the wound on her collarbone. It’s been weeks of having to work and live and _exist_ in close proximity with the LMD of Phil, and while it wasn’t any easier, she’d grown numb to it.

She’d grown numb to a lot of things.

“I’ll live,” she answers flatly, before wincing as she dabs at the relatively deep stab wound.

“Let me help,” he requests, voice soft, and when she turns, he’s standing there with gauze, bandages, and healing cream in his hands. She looks at him for a few long moments before nodding once, and allowing him to guide her to one of the medbay tables. She lifts herself onto it, and the memory of doing this on the Bus isn’t lost on her.

“You don’t have to do this,” she mutters, and when she looks over to meet his gaze, it’s heavy as it rests on her.

“I want to.”

Melinda swallows, and moves her hair out of the way so he can set to work. She closes her eyes, taking a slow breath.

“You changed your shampoo,” the observation is quiet, and she’s glad she can’t see his face. Phil had loved her hair; had spent most of their time together with a hand or his face buried in it. Her eyes burn at the memory.

“I take what I can get in the early twentieth century,” she answers, voice going a little hoarse.

He carefully finishes applying the bandage, and smooths her hair back in place with gentle fingers.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips as he steps back, leaving her personal space.

“You’re welcome,” is all he says before he leaves her alone.

The ache is different this time.

_

It’s late. Late enough that everyone else is asleep, so it’s silent as Melinda slips down the hall to his room.

The door swishes shut behind her, and he looks up from the book he’s reading- not a tablet, but a real, genuine book. It’s so Phil-like her heart twists, fondness and loss and betrayal twining together in a braid that felt like it could strangle her, and her voice is thick when she speaks.

“You’re not him. But you’re all that’s left,” she whispers, and he closes the novel silently. She doesn’t say anything more- just moves until she’s laying on the other side of the bed. Not touching him, but nose to nose as he turns on his side to face her. His eyes are blue and deep and piercing and blurred, which she only belated realizes is because her eyes are filled with tears. “I don’t know what this means.”

He extends one hand forward, palm up.

“We can figure it out together.”


End file.
